


basic human decency

by Welcoming_Disaster



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But let's be real here, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Dehumanization, More Hurt Than Comfort, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, See Author's Note for Detailed Warnings, The Banality of Evil, Winter Soldier Trauma Umbrella, brief descriptions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welcoming_Disaster/pseuds/Welcoming_Disaster
Summary: It's late on a Thursday night, almost closing time, when Barb first sees him. The first thing that he says, when she's ushered him into a booth is, "I have money," like he's been turned away before."That's alright, sweetheart," She replies, and he flinches like she'd just hit him.--There's a lot of things that HYDRA ruined.





	basic human decency

**Author's Note:**

> End notes contain detailed warnings.
> 
> Written for a prompt which asked for Hydra!nurse.

It's late on a Thursday night, almost closing time, when Barb first sees him. Her immediate instinct is suspicion -- only Bob and her here now, and if he decided to pull some kind of monkey business, she wouldn't be able to do much. When she looks closer, though, she relaxes. He's dirty, sure, clothes too large and hanging off him at awkward angles. Probably been sleeping rough. He walks with an obvious limp, swaying a little. One of his arms is stiffly to his side, the shape of it unnatural. Barb would bet money on it being a prosthetic with how it's tucked into his pocket and how he carries the weight. Army, definitely, got the same look in his eye that Bob did when he first came back.   
  
Awful shame that a guy that young could get that fucked up, but two facts remain: a) Bob could take him out with a baseball bat if he tried any funny business and b) he's getting fed on the house, tonight.   
  
The first thing that he says, when she's ushered him into a booth is, "I have money," like he's been turned away before. It comes a little late, the pause too long. He's not meeting her eye, but he pulls out a twenty stained with something brown and crusty, a few crumpled ones, and four nickels from his inside pocket.   
  
"That's alright, sweetheart," She says, and he flinches like she'd just hit him.   
  
  
\--  
  
The asset is sweaty and shaking. Unidentified, multi-colored fluids are coming out of a hole in its torso, and it hopes that that will be rectified soon. The man walking behind it jerks his semi-automatic up, finger on the trigger, whenever it stumbles.  
  
  
There are several technicians. The asset recognizes all of them, vaguely, but can only attach a name to one -- a short, squat woman with long dark hair, weathered skin, and warm brown eyes. The name is Ruth.   
  
There is a complicated set of emotions that comes with the name. It's a similar mix to the emotions that it had felt when it had been injured. There is relief, and there is pain, and there is a undercurrent of guilt that the asset cannot quite understand.   
  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ralphie, you can put that down," Says Ruth, putting a hand on the asset's shoulder and guiding it, firmly, onto the gurney. It takes the asset a second to realize she means the semi-automatic, "Look at the poor thing."   
  
The asset can't be sure (it knows, despite what they seem to think, that its memory is faulty) but it doesn't think it has ever felt simultaneously vindicated and embarrassed before. In fact, it cannot recall having experienced either of those feelings separately.   
  
"Let me buckle you in, honey," One small, frail hand, bones visible under sagging skin, tugs the asset's metal arm into the restraints. There's a murmur behind her, like she's done something incredible, when she pulls the cuffs around it. "There we go. The second one's leather, it'll be softer on your real hand... Had these custom made a few weeks ago, actually, bet that raised some eyebrows. Flex a little for me, hon, don't wanna cut off the blood flow."   
  
"You want them tight, Ruth," Calls a man in the back, mousy looking and shrewd. He seems to shrink a little when the asset turns to look at him.   
  
"I know how I want them, Jimmy," Ruth calls back. The man doesn't look happy with her, but he doesn't keep arguing. Her hands are steady as she pulls a pair of long, medical scissors out of a drawer. They're long and sharp and the asset can't help imagining them in the wound in its torso, can't help flinching away a little. She reaches over and puts a hand on its shoulder, where flesh meets metal. "I'm just cutting your clothes off. Sorry to ruin them, but it looks like you got all dirty already, huh? You're gonna be good for me, aren't you, dear?"   
  
The asset only barely has time to register that there is a correct response before it's slipping out, "Yes, ma'am _,_ " It says, just bordering on cheeky, almost cheerful, as though the asset's voice is in on some kind of joke it isn't aware of.   
  
A murmur passes through the crowd of technicians behind them. The asset can't clear make out everything that's said, but it picks up, "How does she  _do it_?" and "it's been out too long," and "make a note on the chart for unstable, possibly dangerous."   
  
Ruth just throws her head back and laughs, and then she gets started on the clothes, "Of course you are, sugar. That's not so bad, huh? We're just getting to the bad part, though, I'm afraid, we're going to need to stitch up that mess. Wish corporate would shell out for painkillers for once, but you know it is, with the economy..."   
  
The asset doesn't, but it nods anyways.   
  
"Yeah, just about ready for the real doctors to step in," Ruth says, like she's agreeing with it. "Here comes the antiseptic, that's gonna sting a little but it's not so bad, there we go, you're being real good. Say 'ahhh...'"  
  
The asset's jaw clicks when it opens its mouth. She slides the mouthguard in, fastens it in place, then reaches up to push the asset's hair back. The gesture, though unnecessary, is pleasant, but there's an undercurrent to it that makes the asset nauseous. It leans into it regardless, after a moment.   
  
Under the antiseptic and the smells of the lab, Ruth has the distinct odor of vanilla extract. It smells oddly like -- like -- when he, when it -- curled cream shapes, wispy and white -- little sister, grey eyes, where are you going Becca -- like --   
  
"Hey, there, shhh, don't cry. You're alright. This next part's not real fun, but you're gonna be alright, sweetheart, that's alright."   
  
\--  
  
The man says his name is James. He stays past closing time. Barb sits in the booth in front of him and watches with satisfaction as he finishes off one burger and then another. He's as skittish as the cats in the alley behind the place, but he seems to open a little, relax, droop. He says he has a place to go, when she presses, but she doubts he's being honest.   
  
She's the one that insists on dessert. Bob rolls his eyes at her mutters something about bleeding hearts, but she thinks it makes a pretty picture when she heats up the remaining cherry pie and tops it off with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream.   
  
James starts crying after he's had the first bite, and she has to wonder how long it's been since someone's shown him some basic human decency.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: brief descriptions of gore (1-2 sentence) that are still pretty gross, internalized dehumanization during the flashback sequence, brief descriptions of non consensual medical procedures.  
> Let me know if you think there's something else here I should be tagging/warning for -- I was not sure how to treat this one.


End file.
